


hearth and home

by anacel



Category: Holby City
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Christmas, F/F, Family Feels, Fluff and Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-11-08 08:14:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20832239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anacel/pseuds/anacel
Summary: Having spent most of her time in the last ten years in the arid desert, she ceased to function in the cooler months of the year. She couldn't have foreseen just what a problem 'Seasonal Serena' would be. Bernie blamed the weather, indeed. Never mind the fact that Serena's hands were always warm, that she could hardly refuse a backrub. Serena's very presence emanated like an open fire, and AAU was no different, hearth and home all under one hospital.





	hearth and home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elitryalittle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elitryalittle/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Fancy(dress), don't let me down](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17175860) by [elitryalittle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elitryalittle/pseuds/elitryalittle). 

> For this challenge I got elitraylittle, and it was actually so good to get an author I haven't read before. Like a hidden gem and whew, what a collection of fantastic work! So, please check them out if you haven't already. Their Star Wars AU is actually *chef's kiss* a work of art. 
> 
> I had loftier plans for this exchange, but life has been a struggle bus lately, so this work is inspired by "fancy(dress), don't let me down" a Christmas fic. So, I hope y'all enjoy a bit of festive family joy in September/October where Bernie Wolfe is very much alive. I usually default to Serena so this was a challenge for me. 
> 
> -
> 
> Many thanks to the lovely matildaswan for looking over this for me.

**PAST**

-

Charlotte and Cameron’s gangling form appeared in the door frame, cautious and curious about their mother's frenetic last minute foray into Christmas gift wrapping. 

What could only be aptly described as triage being performed on the island counter, a haphazard mix of gifts in varying state of completeness — one clearly too oblong it should have been chucked in a bag. Bernie had on her makeshift workstation scraps of festive wrapping, crumpled tissue paper, silky ribbons, and a row of tape on the edge of the counter. She had her hair up in a ponytail, tongue jutting out in concentration, and managed to cover herself in glitter — a few specks landing on her cheeks dotting them like freckled snowflakes. 

Charlotte took a long gander at the bottle of Shiraz at the centre of all the chaos. "_ La Landonne. _ Someone's got expensive taste. Who’s getting that?” Charlotte asked curiously, as she sat opposite her mother on the island. 

Cameron came around to the stove to pour them all a cup of mulled wine and handed them out. “Serena,” Cameron said knowingly, sipping his drink, and giving Charlotte a conspiratorial wink. 

Charlotte cooed and sat forward. 

Bernie’s head jerked up as Cameron uttered the name, and quickly schooled her features as to appear unaffected. 

"Aha! Confirmed!” Charlotte grinned, catching the split-second change in Bernie's demeanour. “Cam told me he saw you two snogging in the hall when he had that accident.”

A pair of dark brown eyes, so much like her own looked back at her, faces expectant and not a hint of judgement. 

“It's a peace offering — a thank you, for graciously allowing me to pitch up tent in her ward.” Bernie wiped a lock of hair behind her ear before she continued in a nonchalant voice. “It was just a peck,” she said, waving off her children's incredulity. 

She had wanted to say more, apologise for the way that she handled things with Cameron, but Serena had stopped her in her tracks and kissed her cheek (achingly close to the corner of her mouth if she's being precise), lingering longer than expected before wishing her goodnight. 

She didn't know what to make of it even now. 

“So you weren’t necking in the supply closet?” 

“Charlie.”

“Weren’t playing the ole tongue tango. Tonsil tennis—” 

“Charlie.” 

“Swapping spit—” 

“Charlotte!”

Charlotte snickered to herself, swiping a gingerbread cookie from the plate nearest to her, and munching on it happily. Cameron rubbed his face with his hands, trying to erase the image from his head. 

Bernie felt herself flush full on, the mere mention of the brunette causing her palms to sweat.

“Serena’s a colleague — a friend.” Bernie hoped her voice didn’t betray the longing, the inexplicable joy and hurt that statement caused. 

She'd even sort of laughed it off at first, and then that was when the rumour mill started, porters and nurses in hushed circles throwing furtive glances in her direction. She tried to diffuse them before they reached Serena's field of vision with a few pointed glares. That wouldn't fly with her, not on their ward. 

Friends were hard to find these days, harder to maintain, and she’d be a fool to think that what she has with Serena could be replicated, least of all taken for granted. Altering the state of their friendship would be a gamble, even for her. She rolled the dice on her own life every day on the battlefield, and on taking riskier surgical maneuvers — but on those stakes, she would bet on herself. And yet Bernie felt rather like a coward standing on the frontiers of love, with nothing more than her heart exposed. After the all-out civil war with Marcus, and the fallout of her affair with Alex, Bernie had never felt so truly at peace with a relationship in her life. Serena was very much on her side (most of the time), and it would be an amateur move to jeopardize the few allies — _ friends _ that she's got. 

Charlotte pulled out her phone, scrolling until she landed on a group picture of AAU at Albie’s on Bernie's feed. A happy bunch, she thought. She tapped the photo to zoom in on the woman beside her mother with dark, sparkling eyes. Their heads almost knocking in laughter and nary an inch between them. Charlotte broke off half a gingerbread heart and passed it to Cameron, and kicked him me in the shin to signal it was his turn to parlay with their mother. 

Cameron had even fewer qualms about sticking his nose in his mother's business. “Hmm. That’s too bad. I quite liked Serena," he murmured thoughtfully. “I thought you two looked good together — in uh," Cameron paused, thinks far too hard about finding an appropriate description, and lamely follows it up with, "—in an aesthetically pleasing sort of way?” 

Bernie rolled her eyes heavenward. “Thank you? I appreciate the… compliment.”

Charlotte snorted loudly. “You just made them sound like a rug,” Charlotte elbows Cameron, bemused. “You’re such a man — a _ straight _ man.” 

“Children.”

“We’re glad to hear you're making friends, mum. Seriously, Serena sounds lovely — gorgeous too,” Charlotte said, without the need to embellish her words, pointing out what Bernie has known since she clapped eyes on Serena from across the parking lot.

“Could we pivot the conversation away from the attractiveness of my colleague, please?” Bernie asked, despite knowing her children will jump at the chance to do the opposite. 

She is, however, grateful for second chances, for the small stepping stones that have made it possible for them to go from stilted conversations to broken stalemates. Her children were easier to laugh with and easier to talk to when she wasn't hiding behind a loveless marriage and sordid affair. And they had, somehow, by no fault of her own turned out quite all right. Though she hadn’t quite signed up for the interrogation when she suggested they spend Christmas Eve with her. 

Cameron scratched his chin and steamrolled over Bernie’s pleading to drop the subject with a worthwhile suggestion. "You fancy Serena. Why not just ask her out?” 

Bernie had to take a generous sip from her mulled wine before answering, “well, for starters, Serena's a dyed-in-the-wool heterosexual, so let’s not push it, alright?” 

"Says who?” Charlotte challenged her, peering over her own mug. “How do you know exactly?” 

Bernie gaped at her daughter. 

Charlotte Dunn never backed down, she was like a hound, never satisfied until every rock and boot is turned and examined. Bernie never expected her daughter would take that same relentless nature towards the truth when it came to her love life. Then again, she had made promises to her children to be more honest, it was just rather difficult when she couldn’t be honest with herself.

Her daughter sniffed her out the moment she sat down on the island. 

"She's never mentioned it - to me." Bernie offered up as a way of explanation. "Well, and Serena's quite friendly with everyone — it's hard to tell."

The thing that Bernie found most endearing about Serena is that she's generous with her kindness. She's been on the receiving end of it, like an extra helping of dessert, and the last drop of wine topped up in her glass, she lined her pockets full of affection. 

Her daughter levelled her with a flat stare. “So you’ve gone and made an assumption based on Serena's select dating history without properly hearing it from her? Bit hypocritical don't you think, mum? Here you are a recently divorced, fifty-something lesbian.” Charlotte made a compelling argument, poked at the notions and attitudes she’s internalised, to peel back the truth.

She blamed the weather. 

Having spent most of her time in the last ten years in the arid desert, she ceased to function in the cooler months of the year. She couldn't have foreseen just what a problem 'Seasonal Serena' would be. Bernie blamed the weather, indeed. Never mind the fact that Serena's hands were always warm, that she could hardly refuse a backrub. Serena's very presence emanated like an open fire, and AAU was no different, hearth and home all under one hospital. 

Bernie sighed deeply, it would take a herculean effort to convince her that this wasn’t going to blow up in her face. 

"It's complicated - we work together. I just don't want to make this difficult for - for Serena by revealing… what I feel." Bernie said, words catching in her throat and swallowing hard. A strange mixture of longing and honour-bound self-restraint.

She’s never said as much out loud. Afraid of what it would mean if she ever clarified her feelings. It was best they remained jumbled, undefined — formless, instead of out in the open, gathered into the shape of her brunette co-lead with a certainty that frightened her. 

There had been an irresistible gravity between them, that she can't deny, like a pull at the bottom of a current of rapids in the springtime. If she overanalyzed every passing touch, every flirtatious banter, every inch that drew them closer, or each time Serena's eyes beamed brighter she'd be half-convinced Serena was in love with everyone. And that everybody fell just a little bit in love with Serena and moved on.

She took a long, wistful look at the bottle of Shiraz standing proudly among the mess on her counter. She paid a pretty pence to source out the vintage. Like the woman she identified it with the varietal was complex, full-bodied, an almost over-the-top decadence that's impossible to resist. 

No one spent time with Serena without developing a taste for it. Or perhaps it was the company that paired nicely with it. 

Either way, she was in over her bloody head.

She dropped her shoulders and put the scissors down with a heavy sigh. 

Her children took pity on her and came around the island to give their mum a sideways hug. She got her kids back, she thought, a Christmas miracle in itself. After the year she's had it seemed selfish to want for more, to ask for more than she thought she deserved. 

Charlotte, ever the efficient elf, nudged Bernie aside to asses the size of the bottle. She took a critical survey of what's left of the materials, whipped out the scissors to cut a neat section, and folded it in utilitarian fashion. At last, she tied a big, neat bow around the neck of the bottle. Brilliant. Tidy. Presentable. Inheriting her mother's sure hands. 

Charlotte handed the gift to Bernie with gentle understanding. "You're hopeless, mum." 

She was, she knew it. _ Hopelessly in love, too. _

Bugger.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!  



End file.
